


The Back Room

by CasusFere



Series: Warden [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Brainwashing, M/M, Sexual Slavery, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 08:59:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/685184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CasusFere/pseuds/CasusFere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being part of Onslaught's takeover bid requires a little after-shift work. Pre-Earth. Flash fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Back Room

The prisoner whimpered, fingers twitching spasmodically, twisting in the restraints. “Please,” he begged. “Please, stop, no more...” his voice dissolved to static as the shadow fell over him. 

“Shh,” Vortex murmurred, leaning over and gently wiping the smeared fluids from his captive’s face. “We’re not done yet, Splitscreen.” 

“No,” the mech moaned, trying to pull away from the deceptively gentle fingers. “Oh Primus, no...”

“Yes,” Vortex answered, reaching without looking for the forced-transfer. “Just relax, Splitscreen,” he crooned in a horrifying parody of a lover, tracing the sharp-edged metal where he had cut the cover of Splitscreen’s interface panel off earlier. 

“Please,” Splitscreen moaned. “I told you everything. _Please._ ”

Vortex leaned closer, nuzzling his facemask against Splitscreen’s audio. “I know,” he whispered. “But you know what that means?” 

Splitscreen whimpered, optics locked on the glowing visor, to terrified to answer.

Vortex’s hand moved lower, brushing the connectors themselves. “It means, sweet little Splitscreen,” he said. “That I don’t need you any more.”

A shudder ran through Splitscreen’s frame. “Then just kill me, please, just... just kill me...”

“No,” Vortex breathed into his audio. “I’m not finished with you yet.” He chuckled. “This part’s just for fun.”

Splitscreen shut off his optics, choking on a sob. He could protest that he was a Decepticon, not a play toy, that this was _not allowed..._ but it wouldn’t stop the helicopter, wouldn’t stop the finger stroking into his interface jack or the horrible, crooning voice.

The hand, hot against his interface panel and slick with his own energon and lubricant, stilled suddenly, Vortex stiffening. The interrogator straightened as the door hissed open, Splitscreen nearly crying out in relief. He reactivated his his optics to see the bulky armored form of the base commander in the doorway.

This time he did cry out in relief. “Commander! Help me, please!” He was far past the point where he cared how pathetic his begging sounded. 

“Heyya, Boss,” Vortex greeted the commander, completely unconcerned at being caught torturing a co-worker in a back room. 

“Thank Primus,” Splitscreen sobbed as Onslaught strode in. 

Onslaught ignored him. “Report, Vortex,” he said, startling Splitscreen back into silence. “Did you find what I need?”

“You doubted me?” Vortex pretended offense. He flicked his rotors negligently at Onslaught’s stern look. “‘Course I did, Boss. You want the long, screamin’ version, or the condensed version?”

Onslaught regarded the captive dispassionately. “I would like the written report version. Get rid of him.”

“Aw, Ons, you’re no fun.” Vortex’s rotors dipped.

Splitscreen twisted in his bonds “But...” he started, clearly having troubles coming to terms with the revelation that his betrayal had been sanctioned. 

“Capstone will be here in a few cycles, and I want you with me when he arrives,” Onslaught said flatly, ignoring Splitscreen. “How do you plan on disposing of the body?”

Vortex shrugged, rotors lifting and falling. “Ain’t plannin’ on him being exactly a body.” He laughed, and Splitscreen jerked in his bonds. Vortex held up the forced-transfer stick. “‘Course, he ain’t exactly gonna have what you’d call a _mind_ neither.” He snapped the stick into the interface jack and initiated the transfer, motions brisk and business-like, playful sadism gone. “He’ll be short most his higher functions in about a breem. Swindle’s gonna pick him up and take care of him for us. Apparently there’s mechs who like that sort of thing.” He paused. “Besides me, of course.”

Onslaught nodded, watching impassively as Splitscreen jerked and spasmed as the virus took hold. “Very well. I expect you to be clean, presentable and behaved when Capstone arrives. And I will expect your report in my hand before that.” He turned on his heel without waiting for Vortex’s reply.

“Well,” Vortex said to Splitscreen once they were alone. “It would appear our time has been cut short.” He reached out, stroking the back of his fingers against the captive’s cheek. Splitscreen shivered, vocalizer whining incoherently. “Shh, don’t be like that.” Vortex retracted his battlemask, leaning down to press a kiss to the trembling lips. “Swindle’s gonna find you someone special.” He giggled, straightening and re-fastening his mask. “Or lots of someone specials. Just try to lie back and enjoy it.” 

His giggle turned into a laugh as Splitscreen flinched away, optics darting around the room, terrified and not knowing why. Then he reached over, roughly disconnecting the forced-transfer, and picking up his tools. After all, he had a lot to do before the regional commander arrived - notify Swindle for a pickup, hit the washracks, write a report, research - Vortex sauntered away without so much as a glance back at the table, thoughts already focused on the tasks ahead.


End file.
